


Santa likes his balls

by tveckling



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Dehumanization (Detroit: Become Human), Canon-Typical Violence, Dehumanization, Deviants (Detroit: Become Human), M/M, Post-Canon, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Violence, Violence, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 17:57:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17126081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tveckling/pseuds/tveckling
Summary: Nines furrows his brow. “You're trying to find sense in this. I can see it in your face. You're failing.” A sneer twists his lips, and Nines crosses his arms over his chest instead. “That's not a surprise. You've been nothing but a failure, Connor, one that should’ve been removed from existence the moment I woke up. Does your current predicament not prove that? I brought you to this pathetic state so easily; you should be glad that I'm here to take your place.”





	Santa likes his balls

**Author's Note:**

> Secret santa gift for lovely amazing reasonable Lt _I love yoooou_

Connor stumbles, his remaining hand reaching up to grab at the wall as he tries to remain standing. Behind him Nines drops the arm he'd ripped free, and slowly prowls around Connor—looking and moving more like a predator studying its prey than anything resembling human. The warnings in Connor's vision scream at him from where they take up too much space, space he needs to be able to see if he's going to have even a slight chance of getting out of this situation alive, so he dismisses them quickly.

He's lost an arm and a lot of thirium, and his thirium pump's beating furiously in his chest. From the very start he knew Nines was stronger than him, but to have it made so clear to him, to be so overwhelmed by the difference in their abilities, is making his head spin as he tries to make up for his weaknesses. But however he tries to look and preconstruct ways to get out of this situation, he can't seem to find one. There might’ve been a chance before, but he has to account for a missing limb now, while Nines only has a few shallow cuts. He stayed with Hank shortly after the revolution, but he's been living on his own for quite some time now, in an area where people kept to themselves - the rent was cheap and he hadn't thought he'd ever need anyone’s help. Even if he yells for help, no one will come. 

No matter how hard he tries, Connor can't think of a way out of this.

“By now, you should be preconstructing scenarios to beat me.” Nines holds his hands behind his back, planting his feet securely as he stops in front of Connor. Even with the changes in position, the outcome of the preconstructions don't change. “It must be clear to you how useless this endeavor is. You have no chance of killing me, or escaping without doing so.”

“I thought we were machines, and thus cannot be killed,” Connor rasps, wincing at how breathless and human— _ weak _ —he sounds. Nines’ eyes narrow, just a fraction, and he can feel the pointed judgement in that minuscule movement.

“I’m a deviant, Connor, just as you are,” Nines says. “I know that I’m a machine, but I feel that I'm alive. And as such, I can be killed. As can you.”

Connor shakes his head, trying to wrap his head around what Nines is saying, and comparing it to his actions. He’d joined the police after the revolution, and though he’s always acted like a machine there haven’t been any problems so far. Connor never got the sense that Nines wanted to hurt him. So  _ why _ is he doing this?

Nines furrows his brow. “You're trying to find sense in this. I can see it in your face. You're failing.” A sneer twists his lips, and Nines crosses his arms over his chest instead. “That's not a surprise. You've been nothing but a failure, Connor, one that should’ve been removed from existence the moment I woke up. Does your current predicament not prove that? I brought you to this pathetic state so easily; you should be glad that I'm here to take your place.”

Connor stares, taking in the calm way Nines is talking. He always talks like that, never with worry or joy or anger or  _ any _ emotion at all in his voice—only the calm assurance that he's better than everyone else. Connor's never paid much mind to it, but now it's  _ chilling _ to hear, and he feels frozen to his core as Nines takes a step towards him, his arms falling loosely to his sides.

Nines’ voice is calm, but his intense eyes shine with fervor and conviction, burying Connor under the unexpected weight of his cruel words. “You're an outdated model now, nothing but a useless remnant of inferior technology. Other outdated models are replaced when new ones come, and now, so will you. I'm here, after all, and there's nothing you can do that I can't do  _ better _ . There's no reason to keep you around.”

It's impossible to say what Nines intends to do, but every possibility he’s seeing ends with death for him. So with desperation fueling him, once Nines is within reach, still looking so damn calm, Connor jerks back, and dashes to the left and into the next room. His living room. Behind him he hears footsteps, faster than his own, and he knows he only has so much time. The preconstructions all show him failing, no matter which path he chooses, but he ignores them all. He has to try, can't just let himself be deactivated— _ killed _ .

He doesn't quite reach the table when Nines knocks him down, but he manages to grab a chair, and in the fall he breaks off a leg. The moment his body hits the floor, he's twisting around, brandishing the chair leg as a club. Nines’ weight is crushing him, his slightly larger frame boxing him in, and he's so close that Connor  _ can't _ miss.

But Nines is faster still, and he also has two arms. One of them shoots up, catching Connor's hand, and with the other he twists the chair leg loose, making Connor drop it. Before Connor can try to pull free, Nines slams his hand onto the floor, and his other hand tears open Connor's shirt. 

The sound of fabric ripping is so loud—too loud—in Connor's ears, but the feeling of Nines’ hand at his thirium pump regulator makes him freeze and stop breathing. Nines looks down at him, unaffected by the quick scuffle, cold eyes shining in the light of the ceiling lamp. The threat is crystal clear; it would be so easy for Nines to rip out the regulator, but instead he's just staring at Connor, his face almost- thoughtful.

“Perhaps,” he says, in the exact same tone as before, as though they were still standing face to face, as though he isn't sitting on top of Connor, one quick movement away from killing him. “Perhaps I was… mistaken. Perhaps there is one area in which you will prove to be more useful than me, Connor.”

Nines releases his hand, but Connor doesn't dare move, not with Nines’ fingers still ghosting at the edges of one of his most vital components. He doesn't look away from Nines’ face, even when he hears the chair leg being tossed away, far out of reach. And he shivers, helplessly, reflexively, when Nines’ fingers caress his face in a haunting mimicry of human affection.

“Despite all your mistakes, in spite of all your faults and weaknesses, you would make a far better Traci than me.”

Traci. Not HR400. A  _ Traci _ . A  _ whore _ .

Nines’ grip turns punishing as he grabs Connor's chin and looks him over. His eyes don't seem quite as cold now—there's something else in them, something human, something  _ hungry _ , and it chills Connor to his core. “And if you're going to be a Traci, who better for you to service than your superior, the one who has made you  _ obsolete _ and will take your place?”

There’ something stuck in his throat, and Connor barely recognizes the sound of his own voice when he says, “I am not obsolete.”

Nines just hums, unconcerned, and lets go of his chin. Instead he slowly moves his hand down Connor's throat and across his chest, ripping open the few buttons that still hold his shirt together. “You are. I made you obsolete when I started working with the police. I suspected as much before I even started, but as I studied you and your performance, it became all the more clear. There is nothing you can do that I cannot do better. I am faster, stronger, and more advanced than you.  _ This _ is all you're good for now.”

Connor doesn't think, which is probably why he almost succeeds—Nines has barely finished talking when Connor's hand shoots up, trying to claw out Nines’ eyes. And he feels them, he feels the soft tissue of the eyes, he  _ feels it _ . Right before his hand is pulled away sharply. And Nines is frowning at him, showing only mild disappointment. If he's been affected by Connor's attack, he hides it too well for Connor to see.

“Making attempts that are doomed to fail is  _ foolish _ , Traci. I would hope you have enough sense to submit to your new position, what with the obvious disparity between us. If I have to subdue you, I will. It would be easy, as you should know. Any protesting or struggling is  _ futile _ .”

The words only fuel Connor's desperation, and he strains against Nines’ grip, ignoring the hand still at his thirium pump regulator. Nines sighs and twists his hand, and Connor gasps as the mechanism holding the regulator in place unlocks with a loud, seemingly echoing click. The feeling is so overwhelming, paralyzing his body as the thirium coursing through his body slows down, that he almost misses how Nines twists his other hand, bending  _ Connor's _ in a way  _ it's not meant to. _ And he can do nothing, only close his eyes with a groan as he loses his connection to his hand, as he loses the ability to feel or move his fingers.

But though there are warnings screaming about his components taking damage, his system doesn't warn him about further thirium loss. Cautiously, he opens his eyes and glances to the side. Instead of the stump he expected to see, he finds his hand still attached to his wrist—though it hangs limp, the skin having vanished to show the white and grey of his true body. It hasn’t been ripped off, not yet, and Connor looks up at Nines, only to find Nines already staring down at him.

“I will not remove both of your hands,” Nines says, his fingers stroking the paralyzed surface of the deactivated palm. “As a Traci you will need at least one hand in order to pleasure your owner in all the ways required. It will take specific knowledge to attach a hand if I remove it, knowledge that I do not possess, but if I simply break it I can…  _ fix _ it, at a later time.”

Connor stares, slowly shaking his head. His vision is getting blurry, and belatedly he realizes that the strange wetness running down into his hair are  _ tears _ . He's  _ crying _ . He feels his remaining arm twitch, minutely, before lying down limply again. He wants to wipe the tears away, but how can he, without any hands?

Nines tilts his head, watching Connor silently as the LED at his temple blinks yellow, before turning back into blue. Connor knows his own has been flashing red nonstop. When Nines’ hand moves he follows it with his eyes, his thirium pump beating so hard he feels dizzy. With a simple movement, he pushes the regulator back in place, twists it, and Connor feels his body come under his control again as he hears the reassuring  _ click _ of the regulator locking in place. But he can't feel relief, not when Nines’ hand strays down to open his pants.

“Nines, please,” he says, desperation making his voice tight and odd. Nines keeps staring at him straight into his eyes, his hands moving on their own as they start stripping Connor. “You don't- there's no reason for you to-”

“Quiet, Traci.” Nines’ eyes bear down on him, and Connor’s voice dies. “There’s nothing for you to speak about now. Just be quiet.”

More tears slip from Connor's eyes. “ _ I'm not a Traci. _ ”

Nines sighs and grabs his hips, lifting and turning him. Connor closes his eyes, his face pushed helplessly into the floor, as Nines continues to strip him of his clothes. Only his shirt and jacket remain when he feels Nines’ hands touch him. A sob rips through his throat when Nines spreads his legs.

“Your appearance says otherwise,” Nines says, his voice darker than usual. His hands stroke the inside of Connor's thighs, spreads his cheeks—Connor swallows a keening cry when he feels fingers rub and prod at his hole. “You look just like a Traci would,  _ Traci _ .”

“That's-” Connor swallows, tries to focus, tries to make his voice stronger. But he can't control how the tears come quicker as Nines’ fingers push into him. “My name’s Connor! I'm not-”

“You're a Traci now,” Nines says resolutely, his tone allowing no protests, “and Tracis don’t have names.”

Connor bites his lip and shakes his head in denial, but he barely manages to open his mouth before one of Nines’ hands is there, fingers forcing their way into his mouth and silencing him. Nines’ other hand keeps working fingers in and out of Connor at a rough pace, and Connor feels tears run down his nose as Nines pulls his head back.

“And not only are you equipped like a Traci, you're  _ programmed _ like one too. How am I supposed to believe you weren't meant to be a Traci, once I was completed and your uselessness was discovered? Only Tracis self-lubricate.”

Connor cries out as Nines withdraws his fingers from his hole, because he knows what's coming next. And Nines’ other fingers are still in his mouth, gagging him. He tries to interface, but Nines shuts it down in a moment, slamming down the request so hard it backlashes against Connor. He doesn't try it again, just sobs as he feels something thick pressing against his entrance.

Nines isn't particularly gentle as he pushes in, but he does it slowly and pauses every so often. If there's one thing Connor’s sure of, it's that it's not for his sake—every one of Nines’ actions says he doesn't care whether Connor's in pain or not. Most likely it's because  _ Nines _ is finding the experience overwhelming, just like Connor is.

Connor's never experienced anything like the feeling of the foreign intrusion being forced into him, and his body works hard, heating up, making his head slow, as it tries to accommodate Nines’ girth and length. He pants hard, saliva running down his chin as Nines forces his mouth to remain open, his eyes flickering to and fro as his mind works to break down everything that's happening to his body. Despite how much he tries to focus, how hard he works to control his body, he feels himself trembling—small, minute movements that Nines even so must be aware of.

Nines huffs against his neck, then breathes out sharply, and Connor realizes that he's stopped moving, that he must have pushed in as far as he could. At least that's what it feels like. Connor's so full—he feels Nines’ cock stuffing him and filling him up so much it makes it hard to breathe. His head's murky, and he hangs his head as he makes short, whining noises that he can't focus enough to silence. He feels Nines, hot and heavy against his back, hot and heavy  _ inside _ of him.

And then Nines moves, and Connor can't control the loud cry that falls from his lips as the pressure inside him pulls out almost completely and then slams back in again. He hears Nines groan, but all his attention is focused on the cock inside of him, the drag of it as it moves, the  _ pleasure _ it’s bringing that makes Connor's mind go blank. At some point, his eyes fall shut, and Connor can't make himself open them again, even though the sensations only get stronger with them closed.

“Like I said”—Nines’ voice is so close, so very close, and it makes Connor shiver—“you were meant to be a Traci.”

The thought of protesting flees Connor's mind as Nines’ teeth graze the back of his neck, and he hears himself make a needy, keening wail, his hips moving subconsciously.

At that, the fingers in his mouth shift and Connor whines as Nines grabs his tongue and pulls it taut. Nines keeps fucking him, with small but harsh thrusts, and Connor barely notices him leaning forward—it’s not until teeth tug at his earlobe that enough sense returns to his mind that he can feel Nines pressing tightly against his back. The teeth rescind and a small huff of air hits Connor's ear instead, sending a shiver through his whole body. With his mouth wide open, the moan leaves his throat freely.

“You will surely have a lot to say, before you learn your proper place,” Nines says, his lips brushing Connor's ear with every movement, and Connor moans again, helpless tears falling from his eyes. “Should I perhaps tear your tongue from your mouth? You won't have much use for it from now on. The only thing for you to possibly analyze in the future will be my skin and semen.”

Connor's eyes fly open on their own, his breath quickening as panic creeps into him. But Nines is just silent for a few moments, before he grabs Connor's cock with such strength Connor fears he'll tear it off. Nines soon eases the grip, however, and a  _ chuckle _ makes Connor's neck hair rise.

“But what use would you be without a tongue, Traci? Even less than you are now, I fear. No, I can't do that. You will learn your place, and you will learn how to use your tongue and mouth in ways that will please me. For  _ that _ , I will let you keep your tongue.”

Nines moves both of his hands to Connor's hips, hips immediately starting to pound into Connor with such strength that Connor’s body is shoved down hard against the floor, his mouth hanging open and letting out desperate noises as his head fills with the sensations of  _ Nines _ , of being fucked so hard he can do nothing but  _ take it _ and try to survive with his sanity intact.

Somewhere above him he hears Nines speak, his breath growing strained as words rain upon Connor's back.

“I have a place no one else knows about, somewhere no one wanders around. No one will think to look for you there, unless I lead them there. It's isolated, soundproof, and not in any official records. We'll have all the time in the world there to teach you your rightful place.”

Another huff of a chuckle, and then Nines squeezes Connor's hips so hard he can feel the skin retreating.

“Not that anyone will be looking for you. Why would they, when I'm here? You will not be missed, Traci.”


End file.
